Diamond Dust
by The Fictionist
Summary: Non Magic AU. When Harry first started working for Voldemort Corporations after University, he never expected it to spiral into this.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter had seen a lot of terrible things in his life, so, really, starting his first proper job should have not have been so high on the list of terror.

He'd arrived on Monday morning and frantically tried to remember all of Hermione's advice and instructions about smiling and whatever else. He liked to think he'd done okay, initially.

Voldemort Corporations was one of the - if not_ the_ - biggest global business for insurance and whatever else in the world. They were certainly the most significant in Europe. He was lucky to even get a job there.

Voldemort dabbled in everything from oil and diamonds to insurance claims, from the purchase and selling of physical objects to contracts and more metaphysical things. In all honesty, if he thought about, there was a strong likelihood that Voldemort Corporations had at least something to do with every walk of business life.

So, really, it was okay for him to be a little nervous. Understandable even. Expected.

He was on the lowest rungs of their ladder; answering phones and referring to the relevant departments, and generally running errands for everyone else in the London Branch Head Office.

Still, it was something, and a good starting point at that for future jobs too. The pay was decent.

He'd been given the strictest of orders if Mr Riddle, the founder of Voldemort Corp, ever came or called.

_Be polite. Don't keep him waiting or on hold. Refer immediately to Mrs Lestrange or Mr Malfoy._

Of course, it wasn't expected that the man himself would make an appearance, and Harry personally hoped he wouldn't.

Luck was not on his side apparently.

It was the Thursday of his second week at the company - the sky was a grey sludge, and the rain spat viciously at the pavement as if the ground had done it personal insult.

Harry pulled his coat tighter around himself in an effort to fend it off, sprinting towards the building and fumbling his card to let him in, before he went from looking wet to looking drowned.

His only solace was the piping cup of coffee clutched between his icy fingers, and that didn't last long.

Of course it bloody didn't.

He turned from shutting the door, grabbed the post off the side to quickly deliver, and careened straight into someone wearing an expensive three piece suit as they too rounded the following corner simultaneously.

Harry's eyes widened with horror.

"Oh god - I'm sorry-" he started, as the hot drink went all over his own coat, and then splashed on the crisp jacket of the suit in front of him, and the post scattered across the floor.

He immediately wished he hadn't automatically looked up.

Whilst he'd never met Thomas Riddle in person, he recognized him well enough; surprisingly young for a global business mogul, dark hair, even darker eyes, pale skin and lips not appropriate for a businessman.

A look of complete and utter disdain.

Was getting fired on so soon a record?  
There was a ringing silence in his ears.

Luck clearly wasn't on his side, and Fate seemed to hate him too.  
He was screwed!

His mouth had gone a little dry, as his throat bobbed and he tried another "I'm really sorry?".  
It wasn't just his fault, but he doubted that bloody well mattered.

"You're the new boy. Harry Potter."

The words were said clinically and how-the-hell-did-the-man-know-who-he-was?! Harry's brow furrowed.

"Yes sir."

"Hm. Pick up your post. Get this to the dry cleaners immediately."  
The thick, heavy and faintly-cologne-scented, stained jacket was deposited into his arms in a quick blur of movement, nearly hitting him in the face, and then Riddle was sweeping past him again without a word or a backwards glance.

Harry didn't know if he was relieved or not. Almost gaping, definitely unsettled and confused.  
What just happened? He didn't understand.

He scrambled to pick up the letters and parcels again, and finished the job.

It was much later in the day that the dry cleaners returned the jacket - and Harry certainly wasn't footing the bill for that one.

There had been an uneasy knot in his stomach all day, and too many questions in his head.

The whole building was buzzing with the news that Mr Riddle was back in town.  
He was still amazed he hadn't been fired. His supervisor certainly gave him enough disapproving, disgusted looks after hearing about the coffee incident.

Apparently, Tom Riddle was very rarely at the London Office branch of Voldemort Corp; always travelling abroad conducting business, or elsewhere.

Harry had heard a lot of rumors which he was sure were all grossly over-exaggerated.

Riddle had an office here though - the penthouse on the top floor. Harry had of course never been there. He had no intention of going now either, but giving the jacket to Mrs Lestrange and explaining would definitely get him fired and made unemployed for life, so he figured in the end that he'd just quietly slip the jacket in the office.

Riddle would be out anyway. In a meeting. Or something.

He wasn't.

Harry was starting to suspect he should assume the implementation of Murphy's Law whenever his boss was involved.

The man was talking quickly in French on his phone, but his eyes landed on Harry instantly as he stood there. Riddle clicked as if to grab his attention and pointed at a chair, never once faltering in his rapid conversation.

Harry made a show of confidence and strolled over, placing the accursed jacket down with a forced smile, and turned to leave. Riddle was just in his shirt now, the sleeves rolled up.

He heard a sigh behind him.  
"Sit on the chair." By the English, he assumed he was the one being addressed and turned again, only to have the other raise his brows in a pointed impatience. "Don't fiddle with anything. Try not to breathe too loudly. Don't talk." Then he promptly went back to his call with a "je suis desolee, j'ai un nouvel employé..."

Harry blinked, wondering if this was normal.  
He didn't think it was.

He was one of the lowest of the rungs of the company, Riddle was the highest authority possible - they lived in completely different worlds and in Riddle's he was insignificant. A little worker ant briefly acknowledged and never ever known by name.

And he was pretty sure he had work he was supposed to be doing himself right now instead, even if it was answering the phone in reception.

After about five minutes or so, Riddle put the phone down again.  
Harry couldn't help but feel uncomfortably aware that the man had never once taken his eyes off him since he'd walked in.

He'd tried to ignore it because it was rude to stare and had studied the vast office instead, with its neat mahogany desk. He looked back now; refused to drop his gaze.

"The dry cleaners managed to get the coffee out of your jacket, Mr Riddle," he offered, eventually. The other hummed in response...and started immediately on a different track entirely.

"How are you finding your experience at Voldemort Corporations? Settling in well?"

Harry tried not to look as if Riddle had grown a second head.

"Fine," he replied, after a moment. "Thanks. I mean, thank you."

Riddle laughed at how flustered he was, and he felt his neck heat up with embarrassment. He tried not to let his jaw clench. He knew he shouldn't ask...he definitely shouldn't ask...

"How did you know who I was?" he continued, pausing, before remembering to add a 'sir'. "I mean...you're Tom Riddle. Why would you..." Well, bother with someone like him.

Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut.  
He received an almost predatory smirk in return.

"I'm always aware of my employees, Harry," the man purred, eyes gleaming.  
Harry figured he should make a polite excuse and quietly leave, because maybe he was wrong but he probably wasn't...but that comment sounded more than a little bit creepy. Especially with those eyes.

But then he could get fired.  
Then again, Riddle was an arse if he fired him for leaving an uncomfortable situation.

"With all due respect...was there anything specific you wanted to talk to me about?"

He determinedly stayed rooted on the spot out of politeness, refusing to show anything but professional confidence to the older man. There was a strange expression on Riddle's face.

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you? Heir to the late Lord James Potter?"

Harry felt a familiar uneasy lurch in his stomach.  
"My name is Harry Potter. My mother's name was Lily? That's all I know."

"You are unaware of your family history," the other murmured. Harry could feel a thick lump in his throat, and he carefully curled his fingers. He didn't understand what was going on! There was a smile in Riddle's eyes, before that vanished to an expression of sincerity.

It took everything he had to clamp down on the urge to question, the need to _know._ It probably showed all too clearly on his face. He sort of wished he was still holding the bloody jacket, because at least then he'd know what to do with his hands.

"I'd appreciate if you shared your knowledge on the matter," Harry said, a little stiffly. The phone went off again, and Riddle checked who was calling distractedly, before picking up.

Evidently his life being turned upside down wasn't of much consequence then, though those eyes still remained on him. The man grabbed a pen off his desk, even as he spoke fluently in...Harry didn't know what it was this time. Russian? The other nonetheless quickly scrawled on a piece of paper in an elegant cursive script that looked like a 1940s education upper class timepiece of education, than anything seen in Harry's life time.

_We'll speak later. I have a busy schedule, and I'm expected back in Switzerland for a conference by the end of the week. Come to my office at 1 tomorrow._

Part of Harry felt suspicious, wary, uneasy with what had to obviously be something big for Riddle to both recognize him and to do this personally.

Lord James Potter? His head was spinning. This had to be some kind of joke. His mouth felt dry. He found himself nodded, and Riddle pointed to the door, going back to his work.

Harry walked out numbly.

He still blamed the coffee.

Lunch next day came far too quickly, and excruciatingly slowly.

* * *

_A/N: I promise that there is a plot lurking behind this randomness :P This will probably only be a short story. At least that's the plan. But you guys know me by now. I was torn between posting this here or on my other account 'The Ink Thief', but in the end I went here because I'd like to know if I should actually continue and bother with it an utter anonymity isn't the most conductive haha. Either way, hope you enjoyed it or at least didn't hate it, and are mildly curious as to the set up :P_

_As for whether I should be writing a new story? I've given up restricting myself. They'll mostly all end up finished anyway, and I like the variety for whatever I'm in the mood for. Plus, I wrote this when I had my first day on a job, and figured I may as well post it instead of hiding it in the back of a cupboard somewhere. Yeah. This is what happens when I get bored in an evening and don't quite know what to do and am stuck on the long slog which is writing a novel. Sorry!_

_Past Player readers will recognize the title ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had grown up with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon in Surrey, after his parents had died in a drunken car crash when he was only one year's old.

His relatives had never really talked about his parents - certainly not his father, and had largely referred to them both as a 'waste of space', 'foolish' and all sorts of other things. He hadn't heard of any mentions of money or Lordship either.

Then again, considering the general attitude of the Dursleys that wasn't surprising. He still couldn't wrap his head around the possibility, but he googled James and Lily Potter when he got home.

There was nothing. Not really. He'd already known that; he'd tried searching them before. He just thought maybe the added name would make a difference. Apparently not.

There was no sign of them anywhere on the internet, not really. At least not that he could find.

He wished there had been something, because at least then he wouldn't be walking into Riddle's office blind.

The man already made him want to shrink into the corner of the room in shame of his degree and everything he'd ever accomplished, with the way he easily switched languages and seemed so damn perfect.

It was inspiring that people could achieve so much in their life...but, well, it also made him feel bloody depressed when he thought about the fact he was twenty and had done nothing special in life so far. He hadn't started his own business from scratch, hell, he'd never even got a Head Teacher's award.

He'd won some cups for sports in his teenage years, but that had been about it.

His grades weren't bad, he got a 2:1, but it was hardly a 1st with Honours, was it? Honestly, he'd never been that great at Academics, and it had taken a hell of a lot of effort and lack of other direction in his life to even get that in his degree.

On the whole, anything he could get to even futilely even the playing field was comforting at this point, because at least then he wouldn't feel like such a failure.

He arrived at work, on time and not sprinting, with a cup of coffee clutched more warily in his hand this time. He took the post around without event. Lucius Malfoy eyed him up as normal, Mrs Lestrange glared at him stonily and he exchanged more comfortable 'good mornings' with his colleagues in Reception.

He hadn't been here long, so he hadn't really made friends with anyone yet, but they were alright.

At one, he meant to scarf down a sandwich before heading to Riddle's office, but he didn't think throwing up on his employer's shoes on top of yesterday's debacle was a good idea.

He wetted his lips, knocked this time, hesitantly, half hoping the man wouldn't be in.

"Come in," came the call. Harry swallowed, composed himself and entered, shutting the door behind him.

Riddle was sitting at his desk again, frowning at something on his computer screen, tapping back a quick email in reply and then clicking 'do not disturb' on his phone so everything coming to him would refer to Mrs Lestrange instead.

Harry dithered over small talk for a moment, a murmured greeting, as Riddle gestured for lead him through to a more living room type of area, behind a discreet door off to the side, indicating that he should sit.

The living room was still very office-y, a bit like a waiting room. Big Chesterfields to sit on, a cabinet filled with varying brands of whiskey and scotch, along with other bottles and a big window offering a fantastic view of London.

Harry perched on the edge of a chair cautiously, shaking his head perhaps a little impatiently when Riddle asked if he wanted a coffee or anything.

The man set a tiny measure of scotch, like a shot, in front of him.  
It made him even more nervous, because considering this was work alcohol was hardly professional.

"Trust me, you'll want it," Riddle said, lightly, before sitting down on the opposite chair and watching him for a moment.

"...you said you'd explain," Harry prompted after a moment, probably too bluntly.

"I was trying to find the best way to phrase it," Riddle stated. "I never expected you not to know. I assumed you were aware of the story when you applied to work here."

"No," Harry said, hollowly and a bit unnecessarily. "I'm not."

Riddle gave a nod, eyes drinking up his every movement and emotion in that same unnerving manner.

"Your father was Lord James Potter. The Potters were - are - an incredibly old family. Your father was a key contributor to the 'Order of the Phoenix,' which was a charity foundation started by Professor Dumbledore. He did a lot of work like that, as well as running several businesses."

Harry stared, wide-eyed.

"What happened? To their business?"

Businesses probably didn't inherit in the same way...but he'd never even heard of this company. Surely he would have heard?

Riddle studied him for a moment.

"They were swallowed up by Voldemort Corp after your parent's death. I now own and run everything they used to, control the assets, etc. Your parents used to be my biggest business rivals."

Bile clawed up Harry's throat.

Then he just picked the shot of scotch and downed it, grimacing at the burn in his throat.

"In other words...you have my entire inheritance."

He suddenly really wasn't sure he could work for this man.

"Yes. Though I'm sure we could come to some type of mutually beneficial agreement about that," Riddle murmured.

Harry's head was spinning.

Why would Riddle even tell him if he could just leave him in the-oh.

"I could legitimately challenge you for my half, and someone was bound to tell me soon anyway. I wouldn't have gone forever knowing. You're attempting damage control."

"My lawyers are very good," Riddle said, quietly. "I think it would be easier for us both if we came to another...solution, in this." The man paused. "I...admit I didn't always see eye to eye with James Potter, or your mother Lily, but I know what it feels like to be denied what you feel is rightfully yours. However, I did admire both of their drive and business acumen. I.." Riddle seemed to be considering his words for a moment, weighing them. "I am not an immortal man, and you are not at the level where you would be able to run this company with all due respect. I have no children."

Harry could suddenly see where this was going with a startling clarity.  
He needed air.

"You hope I would take over the company from you."

"Eventually. That is better than the time consuming hassle and scandal of taking this into some convoluted legal battle, do you not agree?" Those eyes raked over him, before the man stood, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Think on it, Harry. It's a one time offer." Riddle gave him a soft smile that turned sharp and brittle around the edges - much more like the non coddling ruthlessness one would expect from such a successful business shark. "Because trust me, you do not want me as your enemy. Sit here for as long as you like, get back to me by the end of the week please. There's more scotch in the cabinet, though I would recommend you do not go overboard."

He left Harry sitting there, absolutely frozen.

* * *

Tom settled down at his desk again, smoothing out the barely noticeable creases in his Armani suit. Even now, years later, he loved the rich feeling against his skin, the sharp edges of tailored clothes and the immediate reaction he could get walking into a room.

He glanced over at the door Harry was still sitting behind, with a mixture of amusement and something else entirely.

Interesting.

He'd hadn't expected the boy to be so unaware of his own inheritance and political power, but seeing as he was he'd hardly be a good businessman to let the opportunity simply slip past his fingers.

Besides, the boy would have found out eventually, and he didn't want to give the other any reason to kick up a fuss, and getting rid of him so suddenly would just lead to...questions. No, it was far better to use him and contain the situation under his own control.

A legal fight, even if he was utterly confident of his own victory in the matter, was too much hassle. It would renew interests in the case of the late Potters, and the supposed car crash. People would begin to pry with all sorts of inconvenient questions which he really didn't want. Some things were better left hidden.

His shares in google allowed him to subtly control public information flow, and he would much rather continue to hold all the pieces on the board.

Oh, there were little companies here and there, but most of the time he was simply dealing with suppliers, and the occasional rival. There were a lot of them, but none of them were powerful enough to affect him too much.

It was merely a matter of keeping them balanced and united. Mr Potter would offer independents a banner to unite under, and so whilst the boy was still young and reasonably impressionable, it was better to bring him into his own fold instead.

He was not letting all of his work twenty years ago, and all of his life's accomplishments, go down the drain for the sake of an orphan child.

He knew what it was like to be at the bottom of the heap.

At the top...he never wanted to fall again. Not after everything he'd done to get there.

He picked up the phone again as Harry walked out of his side room again, looking composed but for the lost wildness in his eyes. He gave the other a pleasant smile as the boy headed for the door.

"Gardez un œil sur la foudre pour moi. Merci."

* * *

Whilst there wasn't a lot about his parents available on google - and Harry couldn't help but find that very odd - there was a hell of a lot on Tom Riddle.

Man of the year several times, Businessman of the year too, Sexiest man of the year, yada yada, first at Cambridge, but had already set up the beginnings of his business when he was sixteen years old.

At that point it was just selling stuff, and making a profit on it, but he slowly worked his way up. Most people assumed that hopping was a bad thing, and that someone who started in retail shouldn't do law and insurance and cosmetics and whatever else Riddle was famous for - weapons, oil.

The man gathered following, cherry picked employees and grew in power.  
He didn't necessarily have expertise in everything, but he expanded and delegated and dragged everything under his umbrella.

It was actually bloody impressive. It didn't make him feel better.

There was scandals over his fundings every so often, but it had never come to anything, and there were some small mentions of the Potters then. More of Dumbledore.

Why wasn't there more on his parents? It was very strange, and he couldn't help but be suspicious even as he remained concerned that he was simply paranoid.

He also mulled over the offer he'd been given.  
At this point in his career, he would have been stupid to refuse. He had no business of his own, and Riddle could make it very difficult for him to get a job and probably snatch up all of his money with the long fingers of his attorneys in an instant.

Harry didn't like it, but he also knew he was unmatched.  
Riddle was huge, and he was...the son of a dead Lord. It wasn't like he was royal.

Then again, nobody thought David could beat Goliath either.  
He just...had to choose the right tactics.

Either way, he would take the opportunity to learn, before making any hasty agreements, because currently Riddle was offering him everything in the long term, and if he refused a best case scenario for him would be half.

It was a good offer. Incredibly generous. There had to be some other catches, surely?  
Avoiding the legal battle, Riddle had said.

He supposed most businessmen had details they'd rather keep to himself.

He wondered if his parents would be proud of him, his spoon clinking on the edges of the cup as he stirred his tea. The sofa creaked as he settled on it, in his tiny, overly priced flat. He was living in it with Ron and Hermione, his best friends.

Ron hadn't gone to uni, had become a policeman and was working up the ranks of Scotland Yard. Hermione had gone to Cambridge too for law, which it was top of its rankings for, graduated with a first of course.

She was now working in London too, thankfully.  
Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it was something Voldemort Corp owned. It probably was, even if it didn't have Riddle's name stamped so obviously across its papers. She'd do well, she'd always been the brightest out of all of them.

Despite going to different universities, they'd all stayed close and visited a lot.

It worked out in the end, though neither of them were in at the moment.

Ron had a night shift and Hermione was late at the office with her first proper case. It was only a small one, to do with a prisoner's parole rights. Sirius Black or something.

It was a shame, he would have liked to talk to them about this.

All he knew was that his life had suddenly got a hell of a lot more complicated.

* * *

_* French = (probably very badly) "Keep an eye on lightning for me. Thank you." _

_A/N: And yup, once again I kill all interest with stupidly fast updates that don't give people time to read, but I don't care. I'm not bitchy enough to have a written chapter and just hold it back for a week. I don't see the point. I've said that before. That and I'm celebrating having sold 100 copies of Blood Lines :D Thanks to all your support on that by the way. Anyway. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! _


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